Dial
by Lazerwolf314
Summary: When innebriated, the words just slipped out. And when you can't remember them the next morning, you have to wonder just what you said to your boss.
1. Chapter 1

_Boredom and plot bunnies leave you with this. My first attempt at humor though. Enjoy._

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Criminal Minds._

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><p>Her fingers shook as they hesitated above the buttons. It was so simple to dail the number, but she couldn't quite muster the courage. Snarling at herself in frustration, Emily replaced the phone in the cradle with a slam. She sighed and got up to pace around the room for the third time.<p>

Eyeing the half empty bottle of wine on her counter, she wondered how much more it would take for her to be able to follow through. Then again, it was the was the first glass that had forced this idea into her head. She took another swallow, letting the alcohol do it's work. This is what she got for trying to have a nice relaxing evening. The brilliance to get half wasted in her own home. It was just her luck.

Surprisingly, by the time she finished her latest glass, she was well on her way to being fully giddy. Choking back a laugh, she returned to the couch and began to stare at the phone. It was no problem remembering his number; that had been imprinted in her mind since the beginning of the night. The only difficulty was hitting the right buttons. Damn her lack of coordonation.

In a sudden burst of resolve, she finally began to hit the buttons. Then she held the receiver to her ear and absently fiddled with the cord as it rang in her ear.

"Hello?" His deep baritone assaulted her eats, making her jump.

"Hey Hotch." She replied, her voice only betraying a small amount of tipsiness.

"Emily? Is everything alright?" He asked, worry jumping through his tone. He could head an undercurrent of... something as she spoke and it was vaguely disturbing. He didn't think he had ever heard it before.

"Why would something be wrong?" She demanded, frowning at the phone in her hands.

Deciding to go with a neutral answer to discover what was going on, he made his voice deceptively mild. "No reason. It is the middle of the night however. Is there something you wanted?" He asked calmly, betraying none of what he was feeling.

"Oh? It is?" She glared at her clock and it was indeed past midnight. "Oops. I just wanted to say... I think you're really pretty." Bursting into abrupt laughter, Emily covered her mouth with her hand. Rocking backwards, she struggled to figure out why everything was so damn funny.

Stunned, Hotch could only stay silent as he ran over her words in his mind. Coming to the sudden realization that she wouldn't have said that sober, he asked cautiously. "Emily, how much have you had to drink?"

"Not much." She replied coyly. "Maybe you should come join me?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Oh, common Hotch. I didn't scare you away did I?" She asked, pouting slightly.

"No Emily. I think you should get some sleep." His voice sounded cautious to her ears, but that realization quickly slipped away. She suddenly felt her eyelids droop.

"M'kay. Night, pretty boss man." She deposited the phone and curled into a ball on the couch. She promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, she awoke to a blinding pain behind her eyes. Groaning, she struggled to sit up and looked around through slitted eyes. Surprised, she found herself on her couch with an empty glass on the floor. As she tried to recall what had happened last night, she frustrated that she couldn't remember. All she got was bits and pieces. Wine, laughing, something with the phone and... Hotch's voice? Dear god, what had she done?

Checking her clock, Emily also realized that she was edging on being late for work. Bolting from the couch, she moaned and pressed a hand to her head when it throbbed harshly. But she forced herself into the bathroom and plunged her head under the tap. The cold water instantly hit home, instantly re-firing all of her senses. A dull throbbing made itself known in the back of her skull.

She scrambled through her morning routine, mind in a state of uproar as she tried to work through last nights memories and coming up blank. Racing out of her appartment, she barely had time to curse as she felt rain assault her head before she was swept up in the sea of foot traffic. Wishing she could go back and get her coat, she nearly ran the few blocks it took her to get to the FBI building.

In the elevator on the way to the BAU floor, she leaned heavily against the wall, well woken by the chilling rain and noted a small puddle slowly spreading beneath her feet. Groaning, she closed her eyes and dropped her head in her palms, ignoring the faint ding signalling her arrival.

The doors slid open silently and she stepped forward, still not looking up, and ran head long into a solid and masculin form. Stumbling backwards, she cursed and rubbed her head as it pounded.

"Emily?" Hotch asked in surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's the second chapter, tie up that was requested. Please let me know what you think; all coments and questions are appreciated._

_Enjoy._

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><p>"Hotch!" Emily exclaimed, jumping back another step and cursing herself for drinking on a night before work. Her alcohol addled mind snarled and throbbed in agreement. "Hi," she added in a much quieter, less-likely-to-hurt-the-head, tone.<p>

She wished desperately for some water and an Advil.

"Are you okay?" he asked, moving forward cautiously. There was a curious light in his eyes, a combination of worry and … something she couldn't put a finger on. He watched her as if he might watch a wounded animal. It was sort of comical.

Behind her, the elevators closed with a ding that reverberated.

"I'm fine," Emily answered automatically.

Lie.

"Sorry I'm late, I…" She trailed off, frowning. Something niggled at the back of her mind.

"What's wrong?" Hotch demanded, ignoring the memory of her carefree laughter over the phone the night before ringing through his head.

Holding up a finger, Emily closed her eyes and chased after the thread of thought.

What she found made her stop wishing for Advil and water and start wishing for a small dark hole she could curl up and hide in for a few weeks.

"Hotch, I'm so sorry I called you last night; I was drunk, I didn't know what I was saying."

Lie number two.

"I apologize," she burbled, eyes wide with shock and face pale with shame as she stared up at him.

"Emily, it's okay," he said, aiming to remove that look from her face.

It didn't work.

"No, it's not. I called you at your home, in the middle of the night, drunk and said some things I shouldn't have said (aloud, she added silently). I'm really so-"

Hotch interrupted quickly. "Emily, it's alright really." Taking a breath, he continued, "You can call me anytime. It's good to let things out every once and a while."

He especially remembered how at ease she had seemed, completely without the weight of their job on her shoulders and was secretly glad that he was (in a roundabout, drunken way) part of whatever it was that stripped away the death. Albeit, alcohol was probably what opened the gates, but still.

She regarded him for a long moment after his proclamation, not saying a word. She searched his gaze, before dropping hers.

"We should probably get to the briefing," she murmured and stepped neatly around him. She told herself that she didn't notice how good he smelled.

Aaron Hotchner stared after Emily's rapidly retreating back and wondered what he was going to do with the fiery spirited brunette who tied him in knots and feel … truly happy.


End file.
